i. queen's garden Shepard wasn't quite enough of a fool to enjoy the garden party without reservation; nothing about this place has been straightforward, so far. But still, there was no point in wasting the good times while they were here.
At least the food was fantastic. She'd always been a fan of eating, and had had a few memorable meals, but never anything like this. The variety was tremendous: smooth savory jelly made with port wine, thin slices of fish seared along one side so that it was cold and hot all at once, brightly-colored pickled crayfish, caviar in creme with crackers, a dish of tiny peppers flecked with spice which were perfect match for the tiny deep-fried cubes of tofu. There were whole quail, glazed with honey and red wine and cardamom, a huge bowl of fresh noodles dressed simply with butter, a mountain of roasted vegetables, a fancifully-carven tureen of glorious beef with red juices pooling around it and a crackling crust of pepper on the outside— and it was best not to mention the sweet course.
"Hey, pull up a seat," she greets, no qualms about breaking bread with a stranger, "Pass me that, will you?"
Shepard can be seen methodically working her way through the lot, one plate at a time. Is she enjoying it? Hard to say. Certainly she seems to have come from the school of thought that one does not leave leftovers on a host's table, if one can possibly avoid doing so; come closer, stranger, and know her better!
ii. tulgey wood If there was one thing Shepard knew about fieldcraft, it was that if you did it barefoot, you would die of gangrene. So, in flagrant disregard of common standards of Oyster conduct, whatever those were, Shepard has fashioned herself some makeshift shoes from grasses and green summer-growth twigs. She's had a biting fly infestation before, and isn't eager for a repeat.
The first night, when most make camp in groups huddled around fires, Shepard actually climbs a tree, wedges herself into a convenient bend of branches, and settles in. She's not comfortable on the ground, exposed without anyone she knows well, or trusts, and it isn't yet cold enough to worry about. Anyone looking for her will likely find her more by the presence of her guards than by the sight of Shepard herself; one advantage of this scheme being that people rarely remember to look up.
iii. ruins Shepard walks among the ruins slowly. More than simply moving without speed, she's moving through them slowly; she begins on one side, and walks along every wall, pausing at each door, following every crumbled passage and half-reclaimed chamber to its totality. One who didn't know any better might think she was looking for something, or searching for survivors; but she doesn't touch anything, just looks carefully, missing noplace, then moves on.
As night falls, she sets up a campfire actually within the ruins, sheltered on two sides by a crumbling wall, and with torn-down branches and bracken as a makeshift roof. The smell of roasting mushrooms and sweet potato is the easiest way to find her; she knows how to forage, how to survive. Sit down, and she might offer you some. Stay long enough, and she'll speak.
"Some shit, huh? You got much like this, back home?"
Shepard's Camping Bonanza | open
Shepard wasn't quite enough of a fool to enjoy the garden party without reservation; nothing about this place has been straightforward, so far. But still, there was no point in wasting the good times while they were here.
At least the food was fantastic. She'd always been a fan of eating, and had had a few memorable meals, but never anything like this. The variety was tremendous: smooth savory jelly made with port wine, thin slices of fish seared along one side so that it was cold and hot all at once, brightly-colored pickled crayfish, caviar in creme with crackers, a dish of tiny peppers flecked with spice which were perfect match for the tiny deep-fried cubes of tofu. There were whole quail, glazed with honey and red wine and cardamom, a huge bowl of fresh noodles dressed simply with butter, a mountain of roasted vegetables, a fancifully-carven tureen of glorious beef with red juices pooling around it and a crackling crust of pepper on the outside— and it was best not to mention the sweet course.
"Hey, pull up a seat," she greets, no qualms about breaking bread with a stranger, "Pass me that, will you?"
Shepard can be seen methodically working her way through the lot, one plate at a time. Is she enjoying it? Hard to say. Certainly she seems to have come from the school of thought that one does not leave leftovers on a host's table, if one can possibly avoid doing so; come closer, stranger, and know her better!
ii. tulgey wood
If there was one thing Shepard knew about fieldcraft, it was that if you did it barefoot, you would die of gangrene. So, in flagrant disregard of common standards of Oyster conduct, whatever those were, Shepard has fashioned herself some makeshift shoes from grasses and green summer-growth twigs. She's had a biting fly infestation before, and isn't eager for a repeat.
The first night, when most make camp in groups huddled around fires, Shepard actually climbs a tree, wedges herself into a convenient bend of branches, and settles in. She's not comfortable on the ground, exposed without anyone she knows well, or trusts, and it isn't yet cold enough to worry about. Anyone looking for her will likely find her more by the presence of her guards than by the sight of Shepard herself; one advantage of this scheme being that people rarely remember to look up.
iii. ruins
Shepard walks among the ruins slowly. More than simply moving without speed, she's moving through them slowly; she begins on one side, and walks along every wall, pausing at each door, following every crumbled passage and half-reclaimed chamber to its totality. One who didn't know any better might think she was looking for something, or searching for survivors; but she doesn't touch anything, just looks carefully, missing noplace, then moves on.
As night falls, she sets up a campfire actually within the ruins, sheltered on two sides by a crumbling wall, and with torn-down branches and bracken as a makeshift roof. The smell of roasting mushrooms and sweet potato is the easiest way to find her; she knows how to forage, how to survive. Sit down, and she might offer you some. Stay long enough, and she'll speak.
"Some shit, huh? You got much like this, back home?"
iv. wild card
[hit me with your best shot!]